Page 20 of A Deal with a Rake (Wicked Widows’ League #35)

Three Years Later

A s soon as the carriage came to a stop, Florentia opened the door, and carefully extracted herself as fast as she could with her seven-month swollen abdomen.

She had taken two years of precaution, vinegar baths, the occasional withdrawing method—when she could convince her husband to leave the warmth of her sex.

It all had prevented them from conceiving their first two years of marriage.

Florentia insisted, not only did it allow her and Tavish time to have alone just the two of them, but it would ensure that no one could gossip about the legitimacy of her children.

“Oi! What do you think you’re doing?” her brother-in-law Declan shouted out, running to her from the doors of O’Brien’s Gentleman’s Club.

He reached her in a blink of an eye, taking her by the arm to assist her from the carriage. “I’m visiting my husband,” she told him, trying to dislodge her arm from him.

“You are in possession of the next generation of O’Briens, you’re not allowed to step out of a carriage unassisted or to go anywhere unaccompanied.”

Bloody hell.

Every O’Brien had been watching her like a nursemaid since the moment she revealed that that she and Tavish were indeed expecting.

It was one matter to deal with her husband, but a complete other to deal with his mother and his siblings.

Combined it all was a rather tedious task, as they would often arrive unannounced to check on her and the future O’Brien whenever they wanted.

Ma was partially better than the others, at least she would bring fresh bread and stew, which Florentia could not get enough of during her pregnancy.

“The next time you let my fecking sister get out of the carriage unassisted, I’ll have your bloody job.” Declan pointed at the petrified coachman.

He was usually the calmer of the O’Brien brothers but had become increasingly more hostile the further along she became.

She’d noticed that he and Tavish were very similar and often clashed since they were so close together in years.

But Declan O’Brien loved his older brother fiercely and would do anything for him, which meant that he would do anything for Florentia and her unborn child.

She ignored his outburst, leading him over to O’Brien’s Boxing Club, which resided beside the gentleman’s club.

Tavish had opened the club months after his fight with The Butcher.

After society witnessed first-hand what an accomplish fighter her husband was, there wasn’t a gentleman in the ton that didn’t want to learn from him.

They entered into the club, a ring sat in the center of the open space, men were scattered around doing some form of exercise or another. Her gaze found her husband standing outside the ring, besides Dutch.

The sight of her husband standing tall, wearing nothing but a waistcoat, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal muscled forearms, had her pulse quickening and her sex throbbing in need.

She’d come there with a single purpose, to bed her husband. As if he could sense her, Tavish turned and those crisp blue eyes that she had become obsessed with found her, a wicked knowing grin on his decadent mouth.

Releasing her brother-in-law, she marched toward the back of the boxing club toward her husband’s office.

“Hello Dutch!” Florentia called out to the older man, who had become like an uncle to her.

“Yer Grace, back again?” he asked, chuckling as Tavish began following her.

“I’ll be back,” she heard her husband tell the trainer, as she ignored the curious stares of the gentlemen who were currently training.

“You need to have a conversation with your bloody coachman for letting her out of the carriage without assistance,” her brother-in-law shouted at her husband.

“Aye, I’ll speak to him.”

That was the last thing Florentia heard as she walked down the hall to her husband’s study in the back of the boxing club. Once inside, she removed her gloves, her eyes lingering on the claddagh ring on her finger.

It was still the most beautiful piece of jewelry she’d ever owned. When Tavish had slipped it on her finger at their small wedding, she couldn’t help the tears that had fallen freely.

Throwing her pelisse off, and began making quick work of loosening the ribbons of her day dress as well as she could.

“Back again, Your Grace?” her husband asked, before closing the study door behind him.

Florentia attacked him, pushing him against the closed door, and pressing her body to his. “I need you right fecking now,” she said, not caring how utterly desperate she sounded.

She pulled at the flaps of his breeches, freeing him, her hands finding him hard and ready for her.

“Then take me, Princess.” He commanded before biting at her bottom lip in a playful nip.

Dear God, she loved him.

Dropping to her knees, Florentia ignored the insistent need in her core, wanting to taste him on her tongue.

“Fecking hell,” he said, as she greedily took him into her mouth.

His hands gripped at her head, hair pins falling to carpet.

“You’ve gotten so good at sucking my cock, a chuisle .”

She could feel the wetness gathering at the apex of her thighs at his coarse words.

His pulse.

From the moment she had learned the meaning of the title, he’d called her their very first time in the parlor, Florentia had melted. Now every time he said it, a part of her loved him all over again fresh and new.

“I fecking love that I’m the only man that’s had you like this,” he whispered, his fingers flexing around the nape of her neck. “On your knees, worshiping my cock.”

Dear God.

She’d confided in him, that she’d never pleased a man with her mouth. He was so cocky about being the first man to ever be pleased by her, that he commented on it regularly.

Taking his cock to the back of her throat, like he’d patiently instructed her, Florentia swallowed, before she sucked him hard and slow.

He let out a strangled groan, before he pulled her up by the nape, forcing her to release him. Lifting her up, her husband carried her to the large burgundy sofa against the wall.

“On all fours.”

“Yes!” She eagerly positioned herself on the sofa, not worrying about her day dress.

Since the sickness she’d experienced early in her pregnancy had ended, Florentia was bombarded with excessive ardor.

She had to have Tavish often, whenever she wanted.

It didn’t matter to her if he was working at the boxing club, or visiting his brothers at O’Brien’s, she had found a way to reach him and demand he serve her.

He always did.

He entered her, fast and hard, his rhythm a brutal pace that she loved nearly as much as she loved him.

“You’re greedy and wet today, Princess,” he gritted out, his big hands guiding her on and off his hard length.

“Only for you,” she moaned, feeling her sex pulse around him. “Oh God!” Her body froze, and then shook, as her climax washed over her fast and wild.

“Fecking hell,” he shouted, thrusting inside of her, and grinding his pelvis in a way that caused her to climax again.

Burying her face in the sofa, she cried out in pleasure, trying to catch her breath.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Tavish said, pulling her up to sit on his lap.

Kissing soft reverent kisses up his neck until she reached his lips, she gave him a soft smile. “Never.”

He chuckled, kissing her long and deep. “I love you,” he whispered, his big hand cupping her cheek.

She swallowed down her emotions, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. “I love you too.”

Some days she still couldn’t believe that someone loved her, and that she loved him in return. But Tavish O’Brien loved her more than Florentia could’ve ever wished for. She wasn’t entirely sure that she deserved him, but selfishly she would hold on to him for the rest of her days.

He was hers, her husband, her duke, her brute.

The End.